


Touch, Retreat, Repeat

by vyrantium



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, flirty john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2363840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vyrantium/pseuds/vyrantium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock didn't know what he was getting himself into when he decided to share a flat with John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch, Retreat, Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for andreannaness for the August-September exchangelock!

John was a flirt. And not just a casual flirt, he was a _flirt._ Even chance he got, John was flirting with someone. It took Sherlock by surprise. During their first meeting, Sherlock had seen someone who mostly kept to himself. The next day, Sherlock was proved completely wrong. Mrs. Hudson had suggested two bedrooms, but John was quick to quip “Well, we’ll only be needing one…” and then winked at Sherlock. Sherlock had had to turn away to hide the pink in his cheeks and the shock plastered across his face.

Sherlock wouldn’t deny it, John was a man who was pleasing to the eye and held himself with a sense of power that he found attractive. John knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. But never had Sherlock expected John to be attracted to men, not in a million years. It was quite the pleasant surprise.

In the end, they ended up with two bedrooms. The small voice in the back of Sherlock’s head told him that they wouldn’t be in two for long. Sherlock had been very good at pushing that voice away for many years. That voice was the reason he’d gotten into drugs and he’d vowed never to listen to it again once he got clean. But this time, Sherlock chose to listen. It was dangerous to entertain the idea that maybe he and John could be something more than flatmates, but Sherlock couldn’t help himself. John, John, _John._ It was the only thing that filled his mind for the few days before he moved his things in. John would be occupying this flat. John would be here, in person. John would potentially be _flirting_ with him. Sherlock’s mind didn’t know how to handle it. To everyone, he’d always been the freak, the one no one wanted to talk to but the one who everyone talked about.

John was still his flirtatious self the day he moved in, he was just more subtle about it. A mischievous grin here, a brush of the hand there. Sherlock could hardly tell that this was the same man he’d met in St. Bart’s less than a week ago.

That night, they were both in the living room together. John had put away most of his things and they were winding down for the day. Sherlock sat on the sofa, feet propped up on the now clean coffee table. John was in the red chair by the fire. It had started snowing earlier that day and John had suggested lighting it, saying it make it feel more like a home. Sherlock was running through a melody in his mind, fingers tapping on the sofa next to him while John read a book. It wasn’t until John’s hand had wrapped around his that Sherlock had noticed that John had moved at all.

“You’re distracting,” John said softly, lifting Sherlock’s hand and inspecting it. “The tapping. I’m trying to read... You didn’t even notice, did you? You’ve got a distant look on your face.”

Sherlock stared at their hands, blushing slightly. “Of course I noticed,” he said firmly, looking up at John. “I _was_ trying to remember a piece of music that I haven’t played since I was thirteen, but it’s gone now.” Sherlock made attempt to remove his hand from John’s, letting the ex-army doctor run his calloused hands over Sherlock’s slender fingers.

John chuckled, moving closer to Sherlock, so he didn’t have to reach his arm out so far. He took a deep breath, calming himself. John was just being friendly. That’s how he was. Nothing to worry about. John wouldn’t make a move on their first night. Would he? He wouldn’t. Sherlock hoped not.

They sat there in silence for what felt like hours. John continued to inspect Sherlock’s hand, and Sherlock stared at John’s fingers running over his own. Sherlock was slightly aware that John’s hand wasn’t on his fingers now, it was slowly moving up his arm. He followed it with his eyes, completely entranced. John was _touching_ him. John’s face was four inches from his own. John’s hand was under his chin. Three inches, no, two–

Sherlock pulled away with a start, blinking rapidly. “Best I be off to bed,” he said quickly as he stood, giving John a smile. His cheeks were burning and he could feel his heart racing in his chest. This was too much for tonight. “See you tomorrow.”

Sherlock locked himself in his room, pacing. That just happened. John almost kissed him. That’s what he was doing, right? God, John’s lips, they looked so – no. Sherlock wouldn’t allow himself to think about John right now. Not about how nice his hand felt on his fingers or how nice his shampoo smelled or his grey-blue eyes. None of it. Not now, not tonight. Sherlock curled up on his bed, still fully clothed, and slept.

 

*        *        *

 

John stared at the spot that Sherlock had just occupied, absently running his hand over the still warm leather. He wasn’t expecting that reaction from Sherlock. Surprise? Yes. Disgust? Maybe. But fleeing? That was unexpected.

He ran over the scene in his head. John had been running his fingers over Sherlock’s fingers, testing his reaction. Sherlock had been entranced, lips slightly parted, watching John’s movements closely. John didn’t think that Sherlock had noticed that they were so close until the last second

Had Sherlock wanted to kiss him? John thought so. Between everything that had happened, with the flirting and the hand brushes and the lingering glances, John would have sworn that Sherlock had wanted it. But now John sat alone on the couch, the lingering scent of Sherlock’s cologne in the air.

 

Over the next week, Sherlock was quiet. He kept to his experiment and his violin, avoiding John as much as possible. When Sherlock actually ate, the two of them ate together, but there was never much conversation. Sherlock would mention the weather sometimes, John would mention something he read in the newspaper that might interest him. But there was never a real conversation, and they never touched like they did before.

It was driving John mad. Sherlock was beautiful, and the little touches had been better had been better than nothing. John often found himself staring at Sherlock, wondering. He was positive that Sherlock had been interested. “Women aren’t really my area,” he had said. And that he was single. Nothing else. Not that he wasn’t interested in dating. That he wasn’t interested in men. Just that he was single, and that women weren’t his area. In John’s book (and most people’s, he thought) that meant that the other person was interested. But then again, Sherlock wasn’t most people.

A few days after what John started to refer to as The Incident, John caught Sherlock staring. Sherlock had quickly fled the room after that, and John hadn’t seen him for the rest of the night. It happened again a few times, then John didn’t see Sherlock for three days.

John was sitting on the couch, reading a book when Sherlock finally reemerged from his room. He looked up for a brief moment when he heard the quiet footsteps, then went back to his book. What would Sherlock say? Would he kick him out? John held his breath when Sherlock entered the living room, his eyes scanning over the words but not actually reading them.

John was shocked when Sherlock sat right next to him, their legs brushing against each other. Slowly, John set his book aside and looked up at Sherlock. He looked worried and confused, and John’s heart sank. He wished he could wipe that look off Sherlock’s face. After collecting his thoughts, he opened his mouth.

“Sherlock…” he started, but before he could get any more words out, Sherlock’s mouth was on his.

John couldn’t believe it for about half a moment. But then he full realized what was happening, wrapping a hand around Sherlock’s neck, trying to pull him closer. Sherlock was kissing him. He was kissing Sherlock. John felt himself starting to grin, and pulled away to watch Sherlock’s face.

John was surprised by the shock there, and was happy to see it fade once Sherlock realized John was smiling.

“Bastard,” John mumbled, then leaned in to give Sherlock another kiss. One of many, if John had it his way. Sherlock’s lips were addictive, the way he melted against John. John could definitely get used to this. And in the back of his mind, he knew that they would be alright for quite some time.


End file.
